


We Were Evolving

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Braeden/Derek Hale, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Post-Episode: s04e12 Smoke & Mirrors, Pre-Slash, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times other people looked at Stiles and Derek's relationship, and the time they finally saw it for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Evolving

**Author's Note:**

> *NOTE spoilerific explanation of the "breaking up" tag in the after notes. Suffice to say here: it's not Derek and Stiles breaking up with each other.
> 
> So, I made notes for this fic immediately after the finale for season 4. There were so many moments, so many times that other people saw them interact, that I wanted to put it into a story. I'm not sure it's quite the story I wanted, but it's the story I finally managed to tell, and I'm happy with that. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just want to play with them.

“I think I met Stiles’s boyfriend.”

Melissa looks at her ex-husband, her brow furrowed slightly, only half paying attention to the conversation as she sorts through charts. “Girlfriend,” she corrects. “He’s dating Malia.” At Rafe’s blank look, she clarifies. “The Tate girl. The one who was missing for nine years, just started in their grade. She’s a little awkward sometimes, but she’s improving. Very blunt. Good balance for Stiles; she calls him on his bullshit and he calls her on hers.” 

Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t know who this guy was—he sure as hell wasn’t actually named Miguel, even though he’s fluent—but the way he and Stiles interacted screamed tension.”

Melissa’s hands still on the charts because she knows this story. She has heard about this story from her son, although she didn’t get all the details at the time. She holds her hand up at the right height. “Teenage boy, about this tall? Dark hair, hazel eyes?”

“That’s the guy.”

“Definitely not his boyfriend.” Also yes, he’s definitely not named Miguel, but Melissa can’t explain that the teenager Rafe met is actually the same person as Derek Hale. She doesn’t want Rafe to know about the supernatural; she doesn’t want to give him a reason to think that Scott would be somehow better off with Rafe in his life. They’ve been fine for years without his interference. They don’t need him now.

Rafe makes a noise that Melissa knows is an argument coming, and she holds up one hand to forestall it. “Leave it, Rafe. You’ve known Stiles for a long time now, and do you really think that poking into things is going to make your life any easier? Stiles is dating Malia Tate, and he’s definitely not involved with Miguel.” The name tastes weird on her tongue, stumbling slightly when she has to remember to use it instead of Derek Hale.

There’s a part of her that wonders what Rafe thinks he saw. She’s known for a long time that Stiles’s tastes swing whichever way the wind happens to be blowing at the moment. He’s as good as a son for her, and she keeps an eye out for him. She knows Claudia would have wanted him to have someone to talk to, if he ever needed it. Just because he hasn’t come asking doesn’t mean she hasn’t paid attention.

The noise Rafe makes now is dissatisfied and irritated. “Be prepared to pick up the pieces, if you know the Tate girl,” he says. “They were hiding something.”

Melissa laughs. “This is Stiles; of course he was hiding something.” And maybe that will be enough to convince her ex-husband to let the subject go.

Because Stiles Stilinski being interested in Derek Hale sounds all too probable, and Melissa doesn’t even know what to think of the idea of Derek being interested in return. It’s not appropriate, and now that Derek isn’t a teenager any more, she hopes it doesn’t happen. But if it does, she will certainly step in and pick up whatever pieces need picking up. The entire pack might as well be her children. Melissa will care for whoever needs it.

#

“I thought you were dead.” Braeden has Derek pushed back against the side of the car. She stands on her tiptoes, brushes her lips against his, tastes exactly how _alive_ he is.

“I was just evolving,” he reassures her, his big hands gentle when they slide down her back. “I’m all right, Braeden. I’m better than all right. I’m actually _good_ right now. Better than I’ve been in years.”

“You scared the shit out of me.” She swats his shoulder, pushes at him because she’s _angry_. “I don’t _get_ scared and I _cried_ because of you. You _asshole_.”

He catches her hands, kisses her fingertips. “I’m _fine_. I promise.”

“You didn’t know that.” Because that’s the important thing, that _he_ thought he was going to die. She can’t get past that in her mind, that he was entirely willing to give himself up in order to rescue Scott. She was _not_ okay with that.

His gaze drops. “No, I didn’t know that.”

She huffs a grumbled sigh. “None of them knew it either. And they didn’t stop. Not one of them stopped to protect you.” She thinks back over what happened, over the way the kids trailed inside, one by one, and she realizes she’s wrong. One of them did stop. “The Stilinski kid would have stayed,” she says quietly.

“I told him to go.”

Derek’s firm voice doesn’t matter here; she doesn’t think he understands what she means. “He would have _stayed_. If you hadn’t told him to go, hadn’t ordered him to get Scott, he would have chosen you over his best friend. He thought he was making a _choice_ , and that he wasn’t going to get to keep both of you.”

“Stiles would never choose me over Scott.” Derek’s expression is bewildered, brows drawn together in a frown.

“He almost did.” Braeden slides a hand behind his neck, kisses him gently. “I get the feeling the kid would have died for you, if you’d let him.”

Derek laughs then, and she sees the disbelief. “No one would die for me.”

“I would.” She touches his face, and wonders when he got under her skin like this and whether she can really afford to let him stay there. “So I guess that makes three of us that would: me, you, and Stilinski.” When he doesn’t respond, she knows she can’t tell him the truth, and the words die on her lips. He will never let her in all the way, not past the fear he has in a tight wall around his heart.

He thinks he loves her, but she knows better. And she knows that she needs to leave soon before she loses herself here. He is a weakness she can’t afford, and he has others who will pick up the pieces when she’s gone.

Not now, not when they’ve just survived. But soon.

#

“Is there a reason my son isn’t handcuffed in my office?” The Sheriff scrubs a hand across the back of his head, staring at the desk while talking to Parrish, who he’s pretty damned sure can hear him even though he’s a room away.

“Is there a reason he should be?” Parrish steps into the room, both eyebrows up. 

“I left him there.” It seems simple, and yes, maybe he was abusing his position as Sheriff, but there isn’t much that actually gets _through_ to Stiles. And maybe with his recent love of leather and chains, the handcuffs would work.

Although obviously not, since he’s gone.

“He didn’t gnaw his way out, did he?” He looks for blood, only half joking, and hears the soft laugh behind him. “Or shape shift? I mean, maybe he’s a kanima.”

“He’s not a kanima. Whatever that is.” Parrish picks up the cuffs from where they’ve been discarded, metal twisted. “Hale stopped by and let him out.”

“Derek Hale broke my cuffs to set Stiles free,” the Sheriff says flatly.

“Before I could stop him, yes.” Parrish spreads his hands. “Don’t ask me to explain. He offered him a ride home, but Stiles said he’d rather walk. So you’ll probably find him at home when your shift is done.”

“Or Mexico. Again.” The Sheriff really can’t deal with this. There are times when he misses Claudia with a twist in his gut that’s almost painful. Maybe she would have known how to deal with all this. On the other hand, maybe she would have been in the middle of it, dancing on a line between the real and unreal and unable to tell which was which.

He worries sometimes that he and Stiles have fallen into her insanity, like Alice in Wonderland.

“Why the hell did Derek Hale come by?” That’s the part that really doesn’t make sense here. “They just saw each other in Mexico.”

“I was in Mexico, too,” Parrish reminds him with an apologetic look. “Most of us were. Turned out to be a good thing. And Hale did almost die.”

The Sheriff opens his mouth, shuts it again almost as quickly, because _none of this makes sense_. He just sinks into the nearest chair, both hands on his head. “Why is it that everything with my son seems to come back to Derek Hale?”

“If I figure it out, I’ll be sure to tell you, Sir.”

“You do that, Parrish.” The Sheriff waves towards the door. “In the meantime, just let me have some quiet time before my shift is over.” He’s had dinner with his son’s girlfriend—which is certainly interesting, but at least she managed to act mostly human while they were out for pizza. She’s a good kid, just a little feral.

That’s what Stiles keeps bringing home—projects that are half human, half feral, and all the way in need of something that only Stiles can give.

Like Malia Tate. And Derek Hale.

With a groan, the Sheriff grabs a stack of paperwork. He needs something to make him stop thinking, before his mind goes down paths he does _not_ want to think.

#

“I can’t believe she did that!” Stiles gestures widely as he speaks; Malia ducks out of habit, avoiding his hand.

“She said it was mutual, Stiles.” Malia watches him, takes in his scent and his movement. There is something he isn’t saying, something that _bothers_ him more than Braeden’s actions.

He stops, turns to her, hands out. “Would you just leave me, after I’d come back from the edge of death?”

“We started dating right after you came back from the edge of death,” she points out. “So no. But I’m a coyote and she’s a human. Maybe she’s just not ready to date someone who turns into a full wolf.” Malia tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “When I can turn back into a coyote, will you stop wanting to be with me?”

“I don’t think that’s it. When he’s human, he’s still hot as hell, and it’s not like he’s _really_ a wolf.”

“I was _really_ a coyote. For nine years.” Malia nudges Stiles. “Derek may not be a wolf all the time, but that still could be what she is thinking about.”

“I think she’s… she’s…” Stiles flails. “I don’t have words for it, Malia. She _knows_ what he’s been through. Doesn’t she? He’s been _hurt_. He blames himself for a lot of things, and now she just walks out on him right at the moment when he’s starting to trust her? I should kick her ass.”

“I don’t think you can. I could,” Malia offers brightly. “Although I don’t want to. I like Braeden. And she likes Derek. She smelled hurt when I saw her.”

Stiles turns, pinning her with his gaze. His scent flares interested, suddenly very, very intent. “When did you see Braeden?”

Malia tilts her head. “Last night, before I came over. She stopped by to tell me she was leaving, and we talked for a little while. My father was pleased that I had someone over, although he didn’t seem happy about her scars. I tried to explain that they mean she’s a survivor, one of the fittest, but he didn’t understand.”

Stiles face palms. “Your father doesn’t know you were a coyote, Malia.”

And Tate is not actually her _father_ , too, just the man who adopted her and lets her live in his house now. Malia knows all this and chooses to discard it as unimportant at this exact moment. “Braeden asked after you,” she says. “She was concerned because you looked as if you were afraid Derek was going to die.”

Stiles glances at her, body going still although his heart rate ratchets upward. “We were all afraid Derek was going to die. That’s the point I’m trying to make here: the one person who should have been there after the fact to pick up the pieces of a very _not dead_ Derek is the one leaving him in the dust. Breaking his heart like every other woman in his life, although at least Braeden didn’t try to kill him or everyone around him first.”

Malia’s nostrils flare. There is a scent here, something she can’t quite identify. It’s not arousal; she is intimately aware of what Stiles’s arousal smells like. It’s fear, and anger, and a hint of something that makes no sense to her coyote mind. She frowns, stepping in closer, grabbing onto him so she can sniff at his throat, lick the sweat from his skin.

“Not _now_ ,” Stiles mutters, hands coming up to nudge at her, and she releases him.

“You’re worried about him,” she says, brow still furrowed in a deep frown.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” he points out. “Derek’s been dumped _again_ , and that can’t be good.”

“He’s not your friend.” Malia runs through the points of human emotion that she has been so carefully cataloging, ensuring that she understands the basics of human interaction. “Not like Scott or Lydia. I thought you didn’t even like him?”

He doesn’t say anything, and that odd scent spikes, then falls. She doesn’t _understand_ , so she falls back on what little she can remember of their interaction, and what Braeden had said. She tries to put it within her own frame of reference, and her heart skips, then falls abruptly as she takes a step back. “You looked at him,” she says. “You looked at him as if you thought he was going to die, and _you thought you would die with him_.” This is the point she’s been trying to find: Stiles thought that if Derek died, he would not live beyond that moment.

“No.”

“Yes.” Because that’s it, that’s the truth and the rambling of his heartbeat tells her it’s so.

And on the heels of that she remembers things that Braeden said that made no sense, and they still don’t, not entirely, but she thinks she understands enough of humans to tease the meaning out. And it _hurts_. Her claws pop, digging into her palms, and she fights the way her body wants to go feral and howl in her frustration.

“Malia?” Stiles closes the distance, and she pulls back abruptly before he can touch her. “What’s wrong?”

“I would never leave you,” she says softly. “And _you_ would never leave _him_.” That says everything in her mind, and if he is too _stupid_ and too _human_ to get it, well, then at least she can take herself away from the pain. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

“But you just said—” Confusion spikes in his scent, and she turns away before he can say anything more.

He may not understand but she knows that right now, she should just leave, before it gets more complicated. He’ll either figure it out, or he won’t. It’s his problem now, and she’s done.

#

It’s been a month since Mexico, and Liam is crashing with Brett for the full moon. He still hasn’t told his parents about the supernatural freakiness in his life, and they are just relieved that he’s picked up his friendship with Brett again. 

“Still haven’t told Mason?”

Liam flops back on the air mattress next to Brett’s bed. “Right, and how am I supposed to do that? Can’t you just see it? _Dude, werewolves are a thing that really exist and I’m one and oh by the way, Brett’s one too, which explains why he was such a dick to me_.” He gets his hand up just in time to push at the pillow Brett throws at him, and he laughs. “Mason still wants me to introduce him to you. He has such a huge fucking crush on you.”

It’s not like it’s a secret, after all. The first time Mason and Brett were both at Liam’s house at the same time, Mason started talking with Brett right there in the next room. Not that Mason knows about the super-special werewolf hearing, but still. It means Liam can talk without feeling like he’s breaking confidences, even if Mason has no idea that Brett actually knows.

“He’s still not my type.” Brett sits on the edge of the bed, feet dangling near Liam. He swings one foot, taps Liam in the ribs. “I’m only into werewolves. Safer that way.”

Liam has some vague idea exactly what is Brett’s type—he’s seen pictures of the girl he used to date, anyway. But he’s not going to get involved in this, not really. Mason will keep asking, Brett will keep ignoring, and Liam will try to stay out of being any more in the middle than he already is.

Brett nudges him with a toe again. “I can feel the moon coming in. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Need the chains in the basement?”

Liam gives him a dark look. “Stiles and Derek taught me a mantra that helps,” he says. “I made it down to Mexico without killing them when we were stuck in the back of a truck. I can make it through tonight unless you want to give me a reason to fight?” He raises one eyebrow, tries for _asshole_ and gets a feeling he’s only pulling off _outraged puppy_ instead.

“Stiles and Derek, huh?” Brett slides off the bed, ending folding his long limbs cross-legged on the floor next to Liam. “Isn’t Scott your alpha?”

“Yeah, well.” Liam isn’t really sure _how_ to explain the strangeness of Scott’s pack. “They just… they were stuck with me, and they did this whole…” He tilts his hand back and forth. “They talk without talking. It’s like they’re an old married couple, which is funny, considering.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? As long as what they told me works.”

He can feel the moon as well, and even without the (absolutely useless—Stiles was right) talisman in his hand, Liam finds himself curling his fingers together and cradling the moonlight as he looks down at his hands. He breathes soft and low, trying to regulate his heart and find control as he murmurs, “Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

Brett inhales roughly, and Liam’s gaze darts up, spots the way Brett’s eyes flash. It only takes a moment, the way Brett’s head tilts, asking the question, and Liam realizes that this is what _Brett_ says to himself, whispering to keep control. He smiles slightly, amused that they, too, can speak without words.

He reaches out, bridging the distance between them, tangling fingers together as Brett’s voice joins his and together they say, “Three things cannot long be hidden…”

They whisper the mantra over and over, and Liam feels it settle into his bones. He clings to Brett as he speaks, and he remembers the worried looks Derek and Stiles gave him, and the pride when the mantra finally worked. He wonders when in his head he started referring to them as _Derek and Stiles_ and if it started that night.

“…The sun, the moon, and the truth.”

Liam stumbles over the words, just for a moment, and he looks up to see Brett staring at him.

Truth cannot be hidden.

#

Stiles is in the middle of packing away his chessboard when he hears the window going up. Derek crawls in and closes it, leaning back against it with his arms crossed. Stiles makes a disgruntled noise and goes back to what he was doing.

“You sent me a text.”

Stiles can’t help the snort. “I sent you a text _five days ago_ , Derek. We haven’t even _talked_ since you decided to chew through the cuffs at my dad’s office.”

“I broke them with my hands.”

“Really? That’s what we’re going to argue about?” Stiles turns on Derek, jabbing a finger in the air towards him. “It’s been a _month_ since Mexico. Since then, Braeden’s left, Malia broke up with me, and you’ve decided to go all hermit at a point when the pack is actually around and gives a shit about you. Isaac’s back, Liam’s still wrestling with being all anger-management-wolf, and oh right, we have Satomi’s pack wandering around for good measure, just in case we didn’t have enough going on. And you— _you_ decide to stop talking to everyone.”

Derek grabs Stiles’s desk chair, swings it around so he can sit on it backwards, arms leaning across the top. “I’ve been talking to Scott.”

“Barely. And Scott won’t say how you are.”

“We don’t talk about things like that.” Derek’s lips are pressed thin for a moment. “He’s not fine. We all know that.”

The fight goes out of Stiles because that’s just a lovely punch in the gut reminder that Scott _isn’t_ fine, not since Allison, which just so happens to be totally Stiles’s fault. He sinks to the ground in a flail of arms and legs, pulls in on himself. “Well fuck, thanks for that reminder.” His head drops forward against his knees and he tries to breathe through a brief hint of panic.

It takes him several breaths to realize that he’s matching the exact same pace as Derek: exhaling for the same amount of time, drawing air back in again when Derek does. A flush rises to his cheeks when he realizes it, and he closes his eyes. Fingertips touch the back of his neck briefly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Stiles mutters, because it seems like the right thing to say.

“I’m fine, too.” The chair squeaks slightly when Derek sways in it. “Since you were wondering. Braeden leaving didn’t send me into a pit of depression or make me feel like a homicidal maniac.”

“Where did you get the idea that I thought _that_?” The huff of laughter shakes up the rhythm of Stiles’s breath and he coughs, but he’s fine after that, and it’s nice knowing the panic attack didn’t actually happen. He glances at Derek when the chair stops moving, and swears he’s actually smiling.

“Malia,” Derek says. “Who is very worried about how much you’re worried about me.”

“Oh.” Stiles licks his lips, looks away. “Yeah, well, we had a talk about you, for reasons I still don’t understand, and then she decided that we were done having sex and so, that was that.” It was actually slightly more complicated than that, but when Malia had pointed out that she would be willing to share as long as she was the primary mate, Stiles didn’t know what to do with the offer of an open relationship and just let her go.

“Back in Mexico.”

It isn’t a full sentence, or a full thought, but Derek stops there. He stands slowly, shrugs out of his leather jacket and sets it neatly over the back of Stiles’s chair. Then he carefully lowers himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of Stiles, right where Stiles can’t really avoid looking at him.

“Back in Mexico,” Derek says again. “You thought I was going to die.”

“We all thought you were going to die.” Because it’s true. Derek was _human_ and a _fucking idiot_ and what kind of human puts himself right in harm’s way like that? Not that Stiles hasn’t done it. It’s funny, isn’t it, how alike they actually were? Stiles chews on his lip, tries to wrangle his thoughts under control before he says something out loud that he can’t untangle.

“You almost turned back.” Derek keeps speaking slowly, softly, as if he’s laying out facts neatly on the floor between them. “You almost turned away from Scott.”

“You ordered me to keep going,” Stiles mutters.

“You almost didn’t go.”

Stiles stares at the floor, watches where Derek’s fingers dangle, brushing against the carpet. “I thought you were going to die,” he whispers. “And I give a shit, okay? It’s not like you give a shit about yourself, so someone has to.”

“If I’d let you stay, what would you have done?”

“Saved you.” There isn’t any other answer in Stiles’s mind, and he can see that Derek isn’t surprised by it.

“Or died trying.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t the only human idiot along for the ride in Mexico.”

Silence stretches, and Stiles licks again at lips which feel desperately dry. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t understand why Derek is here. Or maybe he does, but if he looks at it too closely he’s going to say something stupid and make an idiot of himself and he does that often enough, thanks. He’s trying to learn how to be better about it, how to hold his tongue.

“You’re putting away the chessboard.”

Stiles looks over at the box, and the little slips of paper discarded across his desk. “I don’t really have anyone to play chess with anymore.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I only took it out to show Dad what was going on, and that didn’t even really help. I think _kanima_ stuck in his head and not much else, at that point. He’s still alternating between pissed off and confused.”

“You made me the king.” 

“You are an idiot that needs protecting,” Stiles counters quickly. “Not to mention a leader, even though you think Scott is. Yes, we all listen to him, but he needs _you_. He’s the prince, you’re the king, and you’re letting him run the government right now. But _you_ are necessary. And you’re stupid, and put yourself in the middle of things, and you try to get yourself killed _all the fucking time_. Do you know how exhausting it is keeping you alive?”

“About as difficult as it is keeping you out of trouble?” Derek asks dryly.

“You only do it because of Scott.”

“I do it because I give a shit.”

Derek throws the words back at him so easily, like they don’t mean anything, but Stiles can feel the weight of them. They land like bricks on the floor between them, the heaviest thing that’s been said so far. “Oh,” Stiles says.

Derek gives a shit.

Stiles gives a shit.

“You would have died to protect me,” Derek says quietly. “And I’d be stupid enough to throw myself in front of a bullet for you.”

A smile quirks the corner of Stiles’s mouth. “Okay, so we’ve both established that we’re idiots. Anything else?”

“I play chess.”

The smile turns into a full-out laugh, startled and bright. “I’ll get the board,” Stiles offers. He grabs the box, spills the contents out and starts setting up the board. He offers white to Derek, giving him the advantage of first move, and takes black for himself. And if that means he happens to keep the king he labeled Derek, so be it.

“What is this?” He asks as he sets the pieces out, pausing long enough to motion between the two of them.

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. Give us time, we’ll figure it out. That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He smirks, and Stiles smiles back in response. “Besides,” Derek continues. “We’ve been changing since we met. Evolving. Who knows what’s going to happen next?”

Stiles reaches out, lets his fingers drag briefly across the back of Derek’s hand. He gets a startled look in response, then a smile instead of a smirk, quiet and almost shy. “I am all for seeing where we end up next,” he says, and Derek ducks his head in response.

Stiles checks to make sure all the pieces are out, gestures at the board. “Okay, Derek. It’s your move.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, the breaking up is obviously the breaking up of the canon relationships between Derek & Braeden and Stiles & Malia. This does not represent how I feel about the ships; rather this is me trying to fit Sterek into a current canon timeline.
> 
> If you want to find me, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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